Futile Hope
by EravarFF
Summary: It was all still a trial. Everything was planned, even escaping to Denver. But it was all worth it. The Cure has been found, and now the world can be saved... or can it? Nothing ever goes quite as planned, and this is no exception. It goes drastically wrong. [ON HIATUS]
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

 **AN: Please don't hate me :P This is my first ever work on the site, and I know it can probably be better. Really short chapter, but I promise the next one's gonna be longer. I should know, since I've already wrote it. Please review my work if you have the time, its greatly appreciated**

 **I do not own the Maze Runner or any of its characters, all rights go to James Dashner**

The sun's light vanished below the horizon.

Then there was chaos.

All illumination disappeared, reminiscent of the Ending back in the maze. A scream out pain rang in his ears, and Thomas realized it was his own. He felt an almost unbearable pain in his head, and dimly recognized the sounds of others screaming, yet they seemed almost muted.

More than darkness, there was a sense of _moving,_ disorienting Thomas. Everything was cold, so cold, and then so very hot that he could feel that he had burnt himself touching his own skin. His head felt like it was bursting, and he could feel vomit rising. And then everything came to a sudden stop, as the lights went back on. Revealing a room of pure white, with six words painted on the wall.

 **World in Catastrophe: Killzone Experiment Department**

Despite everything, somehow, they were back again.

He quickly looked around. He was alone. All his friends had disappeared, or perhaps it was him that had moved.

'What the shuck?' Thomas muttered. The room had a single door, with a ugly wooden desk in front of it.

Which begged the question: Why was he here? Certainly there was a purpose to it. He remembered that he had stayed in one just like it when he was being Tested on.

His memory? It seemed to be very, very important to him once. He could remember trying to remember. Did that mean that his memories had been taken before? As a... Variable. There were other with him too, weren't there? A bunch of boys, cut and bruised. Two girls, each important to him in their own way. Teresa and Brenda. Two boys, which he knew he could rely on. Newt and Minho. All were his friends, who had been through the Trials with him.

Everything was all sorts of messed up in his mind. He felt like he should remember, that there was truly nothing stopping him from remembering if he put his mind to it. Forcing himself to think, he tried his best to remember. Just what had happened, that he had ended up in this room? And Thomas _remembered._

It came back to him, piece by piece. A dark elevator. The Box. Huge walls built of gray stone and covered with thick ivy, spider-like creatures of metal and blubber. The Maze, Griever, The Glade, all of it. He remembered fear. Fear that nobody could imagine, lest they had gone through it themselves. Debilitating fear was in the background of every memory. Desperation, too. All of that was overshadowed by a will to live. He remembered hope, too. He survived a night in the Maze. He found the exit. He found his best friend, whom he had been with for the majority of his life. They escaped, but only to find worse. He remembered the blazing heat of the Scorch, running from Cranks, getting knocked out and thrown into a gas chamber. Fighting Bulb Monsters, and finally taken to the Safe Haven.

But why had all that happened? Who had put him in those situations?

One word. Rather, an acronym. An organization which had done all of this to him and his friends. Six letters. Suddenly the words on the wall seemed to jump out at him.

 **World in Catastrophe: Killzone Experiment Department**

"WICKED…" He said to himself, not caring how he must have sounded, talking to himself. They had taken his life and those of his friends and were using them to find the Cure, no matter what the consequences.

And then the rest of his memories came back to him all at once, not just those he had lost recently, but every last scrap. They came back in a flood, too much input all at once for his brain. As he fell unconscious, he heard a man laughing. And that voice was familiar to him, for it belonged to Rat Man.

And then the rest of his memories came back to him all at once, not just those he had lost recently, but every last scrap. They came back in a flood, too much sensory input for his brain. As he fell unconscious, he heard a man laughing. And that voice was familiar to him, for it belonged to Rat Man.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

 **AN: This one's a little more focused around information. Skip this one if it isn't to your liking.**

 **I don't own the Maze Runner or its characters, all rights go to James Dashner**

Thomas woke up to the sound of exasperated sighing. Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, he groggily took stock of his location. Same white room, same corner. Yet there was another person in the room, staring at him, with a smug smirk on his face. Not quite hostile, yet not friendly either.

 _Rat Man!_ Thomas jolted upright. He remembered seeing Rat Man just before he fell unconscious. Raising his head, there he was. Assistant Director Janson in all his smug superiority, staring down at him. Sitting at the desk calmly, a finger in his book to mark the page. Only his eyes displayed some of his irrational hatred towards Thomas. Thomas knew better than to try to move, yet he had to test it anyways. Sure enough, there was a transparent between him and Rat Man, keeping them apart. WICKED remained true to form.

"You've been lying there for 15 whole minutes now. For someone who has only had so few years worth of memories, I would have expected you to wake faster. This, of course, was all to stimulate your Killzone for more responses, so perhaps it isn't so surprising." Rat Man said in his condescending tone, a hint of barely suppressed amusement in his voice as he watched Thomas glare at him.

"Rat Man?" Thomas said disbelievingly. "I'm sure I killed you. I choked you to death, you psychopath! How much does it take to kill you?"

"You think you killed me. Might I remind you, however, of what I once told you before Phase II began? You should never, ever believe your eyes, or your mind. Sometimes what you see is not real, sometimes what you do not see is real. This is still Phase III of the trials, Thomas. Everything you think you've done to escape from us, ever since the end of Phase II, it was all planned." Rat Man was grinning widely now, taunting Thomas.

"I…I don't believe you for a second, you shuck-face." Thomas stammered weakly, trying desperately to gather conviction in his voice. Yet too many things fell into place. How had they escaped so easily? WICKED was the most well-funded organization now, with unlimited human capital. Yet somehow they made it out without much difficulty. How had they convinced Teresa and the other Gladers that they had already escaped, even before they escaped? Why had Janson given up his key card so easily? How had Jorge managed to evade the very best WICKED had?

"Even you don't believe yourself, Thomas." Rat Man said in a now patronizing tone. "You lack conviction. In hindsight, things become almost obvious, don't they? We made sure we nudged you enough that you would want to escape. Personally, I would be inclined to believe that you would have tried regardless. You never seemed to have much respect for authority. Brenda and Jorge were to help you escape, and make sure you didn't suspect our control. To do so, they brought you to Hans, who really was working for WICKED. He never left WICKED. Who would, really? The Right Arm was yet another Variable. The Right Arm never existed, Thomas. It was simply another department of WICKED, created specifically for Phase III. Yet after we almost lost you, our prime candidate, multiple times, we decided it was time to bring things down a notch. It was simply too risky out there, and we could take more liberties in a simulated environment rather than sending you out. Main drawback is, your mind can only take so much before it malfunctions, and that wouldn't be good for an accurate map of the Killzone, so we had to make sure we stopped frequently. We came up with the plan the Right Arm proposed to you and made sure you were back in our facilities. From there, we manipulated your brain to give you the most realistic experience we could for short stretches at a time. In a way, we did what the game designers of centuries past never could. We gave you the singular most immersive simulation ever built. Free of charge, no less."

Thomas was taken aback. Was Rat Man lying even now? He had to be. There was probably another motive here, but Thomas couldn't see it for the life of him.

"A… simulation? You mean the WICKED complex never blew up? Rescuing the Immunes from the Maze? There never was a Flat Trans leading to a safe place?" Thomas asked, not wanting to believe Rat Man, yet almost hoping for it, for it meant that so many that had died in the rush for the Flat Trans might still be alive.

"Of course. There _is_ a backdoor Flat Trans to a safe place, but it was only to be used as a last resort. Here at WICKED, we still hold out hope that the human race can be saved. Continuing on, however. When your friends came to rescue you, guess who they brought with them? The Right Arm, who is comprised entirely of agents of WICKED. They were quickly overpowered, of course. Nobody was harmed too badly, although there were a couple of injuries. After all, they had no choice but to surrender. It was only that boy, Minho, who tried to fight back." Janson continued in a droll voice, sounding almost happy about the news he was relating.

"Minho? Is he alright? I swear, you shuck-face, if I find you've killed him…" Thomas threatened in a low voice, hoping desperately Rat Man wouldn't be able to hear the fear and apprehension in his tone.

"What could you possibly do, Thomas? But even I'm not that cruel. We simply incapacitated him with a single shot from a Launcher, then brought him to join the rest of your friends. They should all be getting the same briefing as you right now, although I'm very much behind time, what with your incessant questions."

"Hah. The Rat Man himself got saddled with me. I feel so shucking honored," Thomas laughed, then changed his tone to a more menacing one. "So now tell me, just where the shuck are the rest of my friends."

"For the last time, Thomas, my name is Assistant Director Janson!" Rat Man said in a sudden fit of fury. Visibly composing himself, he continued speaking. "The rest of the subjects have undergone the very same simulation you have. I truly meant it when I said we created the most immersive simulation of all time. All your actions, responses, tone of voice, everything was recorded and sent around to the other subjects. Some of the subjects may take a little longer to recover, due to unfortunate injuries. They will, of course, recover from death and such. However, the placebo effect is still strong enough that they will temporarily sustain minor memory loss, like you did." Seeing the question in Thomas' eyes and right on his lips, he quickly continued. "Yes, Thomas. You were injured more than you thought. You would have had a major concussion and slight internal bleeding from hitting your head if that wasn't a simulation. As it was, you were the very last to recover. Even Subject A-1, who was crushed under a falling chunk of the ceiling recovered faster than you did. Pitiful. That's enough for now, however. I would say that the Trials are over, but you would obviously not believe me. I _would_ , however, say this now. We have found a Cure."

Thomas had just risen to his feet shakily when he had to sit down very suddenly again, his body numb with shock. For once, there was no hint of sardonic amusement or irony present in A.D. Janson's tone. He was simply stating a fact, and that made it all the more convincing.

" It's too complicated to get into now, but suffice it to say, we can neutralize the effects of the Flare inside of a person. For now, I would suggest a hot shower. You stink worse than most Cranks I've seen. Then we'll go meet the rest of the subjects. Meet me back here 15 minutes from now. Now go." The amusement had crept back into Rat Man's voice, as he went back to ordering Thomas around.

 **AN: Don't really have much of an uploading schedule in mind, I'm just making sure I have a 1-2 chapter buffer. Tell me what you think!**


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

 **AN: No, I know I really can't write romance, I tried my best but I really don't know how :P**

 **I do not own the Maze Runner or its characters, all rights go to James Dashner.**

Thomas was still in an acute state of shock as he struggled to fully comprehend everything Rat Man just told him. It had all felt so _real_. Then again, so had the bodies back when they first escaped from the Maze. Or even the bricks. WICKED could truly do whatever they wanted to his perception, and that was not a very encouraging thought. Making his way to the showers, he stopped for a moment to take a long, hard look at himself. And didn't really like what he saw.

" _I must have spent longer in the simulation than I first thought_ " he mused. He wasn't looking the best, losing that almost superhuman state of fitness being a Runner had forced him to be. In fact, he looked like a wreck right then.

He quickly showered and dressed himself, feeling much better after letting the hot water run down his body. A T-shirt and jeans. Running shoes. They seemed almost tailor made for his size. For all he knew, it was. His tattoo from WICKED could be clearly seen, making him wish he found a collared shirt instead, if only so he didn't have to be reminded of it.

He wasn't sure just what to believe anymore. What was the point of having Rat Man brief him if words couldn't be trusted, not here at WICKED. If he couldn't trust his own mind, what could he trust?

He waited outside the bathroom, wondering when Rat Man would return. It felt uncannily similar to when he had first been rescued from the Scorch, and he wasn't sure if that was a good sign or not.

He heard Rat Man's heavy-heeled footsteps echoing down the corridor, then saw him walking quickly towards him.

"Well, aren't you looking spiffy?" Rat Man commented, leering at Thomas.

"Do you always say that?" Thomas asked idly, not really interested in hearing the answer.

"Well, yes. What else did you expect?" Rat Man asked with false curiosity, continuing the charade.

Thomas didn't bother replying, but was continuing the line of thought from earlier.

Sad as it was, there was really nothing he could do. WICKED could control him and his friends, as they had the Swipe in their brains. He was Immune, so the citizens of the world hated him as he couldn't catch the Flare. Cranks aren't dependable as they don't have the capacity to think rationally. WICKED had it all covered, and that meant that he was truly powerless.

Looking up, he realized he alone, and there was a door in front of him. Rat Man must have left to do something else, and he assumed that his friends were on the other side of the door. Opening it, he realized it was the same room as the last time. All eyes were immediately on him, as the occupants gauged him to see if he was a threat. All of them were tense, here in the WICKED Compound, where WICKED called the shots, even more than usual.

 _Too bad it's a waste. Even if I_ was _a threat, WICKED wouldn't let you do anything unless they wanted you to._

"This again, shank? I get the impression you like to dramatically come in late." Minho called out. Laughter and jeers quickly followed, and the tension in the room disappeared. A feeling of relief washed over Thomas as he made certain all his friends were there. And they all were, even the Gladers and Immunes who died while rescuing the Immunes from the Maze, and Newt.

 _Newt?_

He was just sitting there, laughing with Minho like nothing had ever happened, and he never turned into a Crank.

"Newt?" Thomas called out in surprise and confusion, "What are you doing here?"

"I'll explain later. For now, there's someone else looking for you." He quickly waved Thomas away.

And there she was. His best friend, whom he thought had died, trying to save him. Thomas wasn't sure just what to say to Teresa, so he just let her start.

"Hey, Tom." She said, and it seemed lacking, given the last time she had seen her. Yet conveyed in those two words were an entire complex of emotions, some of which couldn't be described, only felt. Hope, relief, happiness – those were only what could be heard on the surface. The two of them, who had gone through so much, who were there from the start – what passed between them could never have been conveyed in words, not by the most gifted poet or writer.

They shared a deep connection, a _bond_ , of friendship perhaps, but Thomas secretly hoped they shared more, that their feelings for each other went deeper. Teresa's last act in the simulation had shown him that, had cleared away the fog in his mind. He saw it all clearly now, what she had been trying to tell him ever since the Betrayal Variable in the Scorch. She truly cared for him, slinthead though he might be. He had to say something, at least try to make an effort to show her he understood now.

"Teresa, I-"Thomas began, only to get cut off by her.

"Shut up, Tom." She said as she pulled him in for a kiss. And in it was everything he had lacked when they kissed in the Scorch. For a moment, it was like nothing mattered anymore, or ever would again. It gave him hope for the future, for _their_ future. And for once, he didn't even think of Brenda.

"How very… touching." For once, it wasn't the rest of the Gladers that interrupted them. Not even they were that cruel. No, it was Rat Man. Thomas hated him with a burning passion bright enough to last to the Moon and back.

He was standing on the stage, leaning on the lectern, a sneer plastered on his face. That wasn't a good sign. Whatever news he was about to deliver, it put him in good spirits, and that did not bode well at all for the group.

"Everybody, take a seat. We don't have that much to cover, as it's all cut and dried. Good news is, we've found the Cure, and a vaccine. Bad news is, majority of everyone out there is a Crank, and they aren't too friendly. That's right, ladies and gents. We're enlisting you to be our representatives in distributing the Cure."

 **AN: Yes. I truly am evil. I'll leave you in the dark about Newt for another chapter. I promise I won't make it two. Review and tell me what you think! PS: I promise my English compositions are more well-written than these, but then this is about a fictional universe. Also, in case you haven't read my profile (trust me, its just a bunch of incoherent rambling, I was half asleep when I wrote it, and distracted no less) I tend to try to keep a one-chapter buffer, but because of me messing up cause I wasn't thinking straight when I first woke up, I accidentally published Chapter 2, which I originally intended to publish at this point in time. Soooooo I don't have a buffer for Chapter 4, and Chapter 4 itself is only a quarter of the way through, so don't kill me if a day or two passes before the next chapter. I promise it'll come out, and I might take a little longer cause I have a couple school activities for the next couple days. Thanks for reading, and see you next time!**


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

 **AN: Going to try something slightly different for the start of today's chapter. Let me know what you think! And I'm sorry, but I just couldn't find the space to squeeze Newt in this chapter in the end, if I intend to keep all my chapters around the same length. Tell me if there's any mistakes in the writing, as this one wasn't checked as thoroughly.**

 **I do not own The Maze Runner or any of its characters; all rights go to James Dashner**

 **Thomas's POV**

My first response was to scream "Shuck no!" at them, but that I immediately suppressed as I knew it wasn't a smart move. No, I had to take a step back and think about what to do rationally, or even if I _should_ do anything in the first place. Say what you'd like about them, but WICKED might truly have the world's interests at heart. It didn't sound like they were giving us much of a choice, and they weren't. We could pretend to go on one of their missions, and then escape later. Main problem is, we would need to go alone, as we still contained the Swipe in our brains, regardless of what WICKED said. I remember enough to know that's a very fundamental part of how they make us perceive things, and they did just that for a long period of time in making us go through the simulation. We would put each other in danger if we stayed together, but I wasn't sure separating was the greatest idea either. WICKED and Cranks weren't our only threats, sources of food and water, too, were issues. No, this wouldn't work. I'm still not thinking from a perfect neutral standpoint, my personal dislike of WICKED and all it stands for getting in my way. I needed to distance myself from my own emotions, as I once did, working for WICKED.

What was the problem, really, working for WICKED to distribute the Cure? Aside from the fact that almost all the Gladers would be opposed to it, of course. Teresa, he hoped, would agree with him on this. Aris, too. With a bit of luck, we could persuade the rest.

What else, then? There's no real disadvantage that I can think of offhand. We couldn't really do much else with our lives now, seeing as the world has mostly fallen into shambles. We would be saving lives, hopefully, of people who had done nothing wrong, but were unlucky enough to be infected. This is the best thing to do, I'm sure of it. Now to convince the rest.

 **3** **rd** **person**

The reactions to that statement were varied. Most of the Munies looked like they just wanted to sit this one out and see where it led. Every last Glader was all for opposing WICKED, and only Teresa and Aris were against it. Thomas just sat there, contemplative, for a couple of seconds, before seeming to make up his mind and watching intently for the right time to move.

"How about… NO SHUCKING WAY!" Minho declared with anger. Beside him, Thomas almost inaudibly sighed.

"I'm with Minho. What do you think, Tommy?" Newt asked. If anything, Thomas looked even more unhappy. This was not the time he would have chosen, not when everyone was listening and could see them possibly arguing.

"Not now, guys. Later." He hissed at them, trying to put it off.

"Thomas? You agree with us, don't you?" Minho asked slowly. He couldn't see that was the last thing Thomas wanted him to say right now. It was going to be hard enough to persuade them as it was, this just made it worse.

Thomas sighed. Looks like he had to do this now. "No, Minho, I don't." he loudly declared, making sure everyone in the room could hear him. "Just think, for a moment. Put aside your personal animosity towards WICKED. What problem is there in helping to distribute the Cure?" He refrained from saying that they didn't have much else in terms of choices, as that would just make Minho even less likely to accept the idea.

Newt seemed to be seriously considering his words, and Minho was still stubbornly trying to find an answer to his question. Newt. Thomas made a mental note to ask him for an explanation later.

"That's what I've been trying to tell these slintheads. Thanks, Tom." Teresa said, flashing him a quick smile.

And Janson smirked, unseen by anyone as he was ignored for the time being. He knew this was the most likely outcome all along, and knew that Thomas would win in the end.

Thomas knew he had to drive home his point now. "We can help a lot of people, Minho. We won't be able to achieve much else. This is the most important thing right now, and we just went through all those shucking trials, lost so many people, to get this Cure, and I'll be damned if you waste it."

And that was all Minho needed. "I'm in," both Newt and Minho said at the same time, "but there's no way I'm taking orders from that slinthead on the stage." Minho added.

"You won't be," Rat Man called out, making everyone remember him, "we'll assign you to groups. I'm high enough in the chain of command it's unlikely you'll ever see me. Now then, have you all finally decided to come voluntarily? Frankly speaking, I'm quite bored of all of this, and I have better things to do with my time."

"Why, you little…" Minho screamed at him, fuming mad. Newt and Thomas had to physically restrain him to keep him from running at Rat Man.

"Seeing how _nobody,"_ Janson sneered, "is protesting, I'll take that as agreement. You'll all be assigned quarters to sleep in, which I highly suggest you make use of, seeing how we intend to work you to the bone. Now, scram. You've wasted enough of my time already."

And then he was gone, leaving all the insults shouted at him to fall on empty air.

 **AN: I decided to just go ahead and upload this one, even though chapter 5 isn't ready yet. It'll take about 2-3 days for chapter 5 as I'm going to be quite busy. Stay tuned, and until next time!**


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

 **AN: This one was more difficult to write, mainly because I didn't really have any inspiration to run with. I'm not sure if I'm just being overly paranoid or critical about my own work, but quality seems to be dropping ever so slightly. Tell me what you guys think! Enjoy.**

 **I do not own the Maze Runner or any of its characters; all rights go to James Dashner**

Thomas managed to grab Newt and break away from their escort.

"Alright Newt. Mind explaining now?" Thomas said as he pulled him into a side corridor.

"A little grumpy, aren't you, Tommy?" Newt asked, continuing to walk.

"I guess it's to be expected, after the person you're speaking to decides to ask you to shoot him. Only you didn't die, did you?" Thomas replied with a sardonic tone of voice.

"Should've known you can't stick a bullet through my head at point blank range, Tommy. Somehow, your aim sucked so bad you caught me in the side of the head. Right where the Flare was slowly eating away at my brain. Well, to cut things short, the physical manifestation of the Flare prevented too much of me from being splattered on the sidewalk. Suffice it to say, somebody at WICKED really wanted me alive. If you had bothered to look back after you shot me, you would've seen a Berg coming to pick me up. A bit of patching up of my head later, I was their first test subject for the Cure."

Thomas didn't know what to feel. Relief and happiness that Newt was alright, suspicion about his comment that somebody from WICKED wanted him to be kept alive, or embarrassment about the way Newt had described his aiming skills. So what if his hand had been shaking, this was his friend he was killing. It was perfectly normal to have a panicked reaction by that point, right?

In the end, he simply said "I see." and let it go. What else was there to say, really? He was still mad with Newt for making him kill him, but it turned out alright in the end, it seemed. Now that Newt was cured, and vaccinated, if he remembered Rat Man's words right, there was really no point in continuing with this conversation.

"You're mad at me, aren't you? For asking you to kill me." Newt questioned quietly, an emotion Thomas couldn't quite make out displayed on his face.

"Yes," Thomas admitted, "but that's beside the point. We have one last job now. That's all that matters. For now, let's just get back to the others."

"Might have a slight problem with that, Tommy." Newt said somewhat sarcastically, "Do you remember where they went?"

Oops.

 **-Line Break-**

"Hey, did anyone see Thomas and Newt?" Minho called out. They'd been gone some twenty minutes now, and he was starting to get worried. They'd been put into a common room to while away the time before turning in. Nobody, not even their escorts, seemed to notice that the two of them had disappeared, however.

Nobody responded. Most of them had only just realized that Thomas and Newt were missing, and most of them didn't seem to care a whit.

"Probably just gone off for a walk. They'll be back eventually, don't worry so much. Although, I wish I had Thomas' help right about now. Aris seems to be getting really worked up about something, but he won't tell anyone."

 **-Line Break-**

Thomas and Newt had only gotten more lost, and they hadn't seen any WICKED employees around. Something seemed ominous about the corridors as they ventured deeper and deeper into the complex, the feeling that _something_ was at work here. All this didn't sit well with Thomas, and he grew noticeably more and more nervous as they continued.

"I think we're going the wrong way, Newt. Let's-" Suddenly, a gurgling scream could be heard from deeper in, cut off abruptly.

"What was that?" Newt asked in apprehension.

"I don't know, but we're going to find out." Thomas said, before dashing in. Newt hesitated for a moment before following.

There was a room at the end of the corridor, and silent sobs could be heard inside. Thomas could see that the door was slightly ajar, and he slowly tried to get a glimpse inside, Newt's head over his shoulder.

And his eyes widened, before darkness engulfed him.

 **AN: I think I'm going to actually decide on a schedule. I mean, releasing rapidly is good and all, but I think some time to actually check through my work is going to be important too. Besides, I need some time to actually live my life. Tentatively for now I'll say one every Wednesday and Saturday, UTC+08:00 timezone.**


	6. Chapter 6

**I'm honestly surprised people still read this. I thought this was a sack of clunk, really. I went over to fictionpress, and that's where I'm at most of the time.**

 **But I'm doing this one for old times sake, back in my old writing style. Totally not cause a friend pestered me till I did it.**

 **I don't own the Maze Runner or its characters, all rights go to James Dashner**

Thomas was in his room. How had he gotten in his room?

He remembered drinking alone, in a narrow corridor, till he passed out. Newt was there, laughing at him and nicking his glass.

No, that was wrong. He didn't drink. Nor had alcohol been made in years. Not even moonshine was created anymore.

A narrow corridor. Screams. A woman sobbing. A baby crying. He knew that corridor.

He could almost hear somebody asking him to just forget about it. But he hadn't made it through the Maze, then the Scorch, by being anybody's fool.

His gut told him something was very wrong here. And he had to find out, if only because curiosity would eat at him from the inside if he didn't at least try.

A nagging voice in the back of his head told him this was probably another set up by WICKED. Still didn't assuage his curiosity. For better or for worse, Thomas needed to know if the screams and the crying were real. Because if so, there were a couple answers he really needed to beat out of the Rat.

Who could he take along? Minho would be way too trigger-happy for this. He'd charge in screaming bloody murder the moment he heard anything, and the whole business would deteriorate from there.

Newt might be an option too. But really, did Thomas want to drag him into yet another potentially dangerous situation? He'd already caused the guy to get shot once, and now his memories were probably as scrambled as his own were just a minute ago. That, more than anything, told him WICKED was trying to cover something up.

Who else could he count on? His mind cycled through various companions, everybody he'd taken the time to know during the whirlwind of a time they'd been in the Trials. His mind kept settling to Aris, then Teresa.

Aris? Thomas raised an eyebrow, not caring that only he could see it. Unless, of course, WICKED had planted a camera or a dozen in his room. He wouldn't put it past them, actually. But he hadn't really known Aris for too long. Well, not since the Trials had started and he'd lost most of his memories. The Rat and what few memories he got did imply that they were tight before though. So many he was just being paranoid.

Teresa, though… there was a piece of work more tangled up than a ball of yarn. On one hand, he had a sneaking suspicion she was still somewhat mad at him. After all, he had been something of a slinthead to her for ages after the Betrayal Variable. Still, she would have his back. But that meant thrusting her right back into the line of fire again.

It was so much harder to decide what to do when it wasn't all of them that was in danger, but he could pick which.

But that was wrong, Thomas realized. If he messed up here, WICKED would know scrambling his memories wouldn't cut it anymore. If he disappeared, somebody was bound to be suspicious. Unless, of course, WICKED simply faked all their memories of him.

Since when had he thought things like that were simple? Since WICKED had made him think a brick wall existed where there was none, maybe.

He'd bring nobody else. He couldn't put all of them into danger again. But first he had to get out of this room.

You could call a room yours if you live in it, and you had your belongings in it. He'd only seen this room for the first time, but he knew it was his somehow.

He walked slowly to the nearest drawer, an odd sense of familiarity in his mind. The whitewashed walls had little markings on them, like scratches made from little fingernails rubbing away at the walls repeatedly. Perhaps from boredom, really, because it would take a really, really long time to make markings like the ones he was seeing. Whoever had lived in here hadn't exactly been thrilled by the place.

His hands clammy in the air-conditioned room, he opened the nearest drawer slowly, afraid of what he might find. More likely, though, there would be nothing in it. WICKED didn't waste much, seeing how the entire planet was in the middle of a crisis.

All it contained, though, was neatly folded clothes. Thomas pulled one out, holding it in his hands till it unfolded to its full size.

"Looks like what a 12 year old would wear," he muttered to himself, "Looks like my style, actually."

He piled the clothes on the sparse bed beside it. He wasn't sure exactly what he was hoping to find, just something less mundane than old clothing that some kid used to wear.

Some kid that was probably long dead. The world they lived in was neither gentle nor kind. Maybe that's why he was here.

His intuition was right, though. At the bottom of the pile was a folded piece of paper and a metal key.

He picked up the metal key, examining it. Walking back to the door, he took a deep breath, hoping he wouldn't accidentally set off any alarms.

It slipped in easily. Thomas stopped breathing, one hand still on the key while the other ready to punch anybody or anything that came through that door.

Five seconds passed. Then ten. Still nothing.

His heart pounding in his ears, he turned the lock. No alarms went off yet. That was a good sign, he hoped.

Breathing slightly easier, he left the key in the hole and walked back to the drawer, eager to read the note.

The paper had yellowed somewhat, and the handwriting, already shaky when written, was hard to decipher, even for him. It was a simple letter, only four lines long, but it still made him shiver.

 _We were wrong._

 _We're not gods._

 _We can't do this._

 _Stop this, Thomas._

He remembered a saying about how it felt like a goose was walking over his grave. Well, this felt like the goose had made a nest and laid eggs on it.

It did pretty much confirm that this used to be his room, though. He almost pitied the old him, but then he remembered how many of his friends he'd watched die in the Scorch.

Maybe his old life was still better than the horror that his current life is. He just didn't sleep as much, so the nightmares don't come.

He just didn't sleep so he wouldn't have to see their faces. All of them with hopes and dreams, all with friends, and the collective desire to get out of the Trials.

Try as he might, he couldn't imagine them as a statistic. No, they were all people, who would now never get to live another day.

A necessary sacrifice? Maybe. But he'd sooner die than follow WICKED's thinking.

He placed the piece of paper back, concealing it again with those old clothes. He almost wished he hadn't seen it, cause all it had brought were unpleasant memories.

He recollected his thoughts, forcing himself into a state of calm. It would do him no good to fall apart right now.

He stepped out of the room as quickly and soundlessly as he could, dodging security cameras on instinct. He remembered doing this a long time ago, with Teresa manipulating the feeds. But that was the past, and he had to concentrate on the present.

He slipped past camera after camera, ducking occasionally so they wouldn't catch him. He was forced to reroute several times, so he wouldn't be caught by WICKED staff walking past.

Twice he saw a Psych in arm's reach. It took every ounce of control he had not to reach out and strangle the guy where he stood.

In a flash, he found the corridor that he remembered. There were no more screams, or crying. He took a quick look around him to make sure nobody was tailing him, then walked into the room.

Nothing he'd seen could have prepared him for the sight. In front of him were two people, a woman and a small child, lying on surgical tables, the bloody tools of the trade next to them.

Their brains had been dissected, and certain parts looked like they had been removed. The woman's hands were caught into claws, and the baby's face in a rictus grin. Both had empty, staring eyes with a suffering expression on their face.

Thomas quickly swallowed down the vomit that had risen. He couldn't stand to be in the room any longer, not even to find out just what was going on.

He ran blindly, not caring if every camera saw him. He ran because running could take away all his thoughts and just leave him there, peaceful. He ran like he would run, back in the Maze.

And he just kept running.


End file.
